


Rich in All That I Have Lost

by Nestra



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:43:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nestra/pseuds/Nestra
Summary: O starshine on the fields of long-ago,Bring me the darkness and the nightingale;Dim wealds of vanished summer, peace of home,And silence; and the faces of my friends.





	Rich in All That I Have Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allecto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allecto/gifts).



> Title and summary from "Memory" by Siegfried Sassoon. Because when you go WWI, you go Owen or Sassoon. Or both.
> 
> There are no graphic descriptions of violence or post-traumatic stress, but there is discussion of war and its costs.

Walter Blythe looked over Rainbow Valley as the late sun's rays flooded it with fiery light. For the first time in his short life, he felt nothing at the sight. Normally, he loved to watch the tracery of the leaves against the changing color of the sky, the way the sun's light bounced off the brook until it sunk past the horizon.

He'd once spent his days admiring the beauty in the world. Now he feared that he would never see the beauty in anything ever again. Perhaps that ability was one of the many things he'd left behind in France, buried in the mud and filth of the trenches. When he was a young man, thoughts of France had meant Monet, Notre Dame, Dumas, égalité. He only hoped he never had to see or think of the place again.

It had been six weeks since he’d returned home to Ingleside, three years after his supposed death. He had only hazy memories of the first month, and he supposed that was for the best. His mother's hysterical relief had verged on true hysteria, and though he knew it couldn't be true, it seemed like everyone he knew looked at him with accusing eyes. Not a Lazarus, but a sacrifice who had dared come back from the dead.

Recently, his parents had suggested that he visit Green Gables to continue his recovery. Walter doubted he would ever recover, so it didn't really concern him where he lived.

Footsteps crunching on the grass warned him that he was about to have company. Not Father's firm tread, not Rilla's youthful bounds. He turned as Una Meredith sat on the log next to him. They'd barely spoken since his return, other than to exchange casual greetings and nods. She seemed unchanged, small and unobtrusive, with those dark blue eyes that missed nothing.

Unchanged, unlike him. He was still many pounds underweight, and the scars covering the right side of his body were still livid. He supposed they would fade eventually, though he would always walk with a limp.

"Did Mother send you out to talk to me?" Walter asked.

"She's worried about you," she said softly.

"I know. Everyone is worried about me. Am I meant to pretend that I'm the same person who went away to war? That I didn't witness depravity and horror and baseness?"

"No." Her warm voice held no chastisement, but he felt ashamed regardless. Hadn't he fought so that people like Una could remain untouched? Instead, he soiled her and everyone around him with the touch of his blackened soul.

"I don’t know what to do with myself, Una. I truly don't."

"Must you do anything?"

"Yes! Or what else am I good for? Should I return to Redmond? Go back to teaching? I can't write poetry anymore, not that being a poet was ever a decent occupation for a man." The sun was sinking lower in the sky, and a chill began to descend over the valley.

"You can take some time. Get better." Una’s voiced sounded thick with choked-back tears, but Walter refused to let himself notice.

"I don't want time." He pressed clenched fists against his forehead. When he lay awake at night, afraid to close his eyes, he could still hear the ceaseless booming of the artillery guns, as if the sound had scarred his eardrums. "Time means sitting alone and reliving the hours I spent buried under the mud, the years as a prisoner, the food not fit for a dog."

There was silence between them then, with only the sounds of the birds and the wind and the rushing brook.

"Oh, Walter, I don’t know what to say to comfort you," she said. "Perhaps if you spoke to Father--"

"There is nothing to say, Una. I'm a small cog in the machinery of nations, except I broke loose and was crushed in the gears. Who can I blame? My parents, for believing the Army when they said I was dead and not searching for me? Jem, the hero, for escaping a prisoner of war camp when I could not? God, for the insanity that is war?"

"Walter!" Una gasped as his blasphemy, her pale cheeks flushing.

"I'm sorry," he said by rote, not knowing if he meant it. But his parents had raised him right, and you apologized when you offended a lady. "It feels like everything that comes out of my mouth is ashes, because everything inside of me is gone. Destroyed."

"I felt that way during the war, when all of you were gone," she murmured. "Jerry and Carl and Shirley enlisted, Jem missing, you--"

"Dead. I might as well have stayed dead."

"Stop that, Walter Blythe!" He turned in shock to face her. Una had snapped at him. Una Meredith, who he'd never heard raise her voice to anyone, had spoken to him in anger. She rose to her feet to glare down at him, her blue eyes blazing.

"You know how many men did die? And how many women and children? I know you saw the death and the suffering, and for you to say something like that..." She trailed off for a moment, catching her breath. "I never once thought you were a coward, Walter. Not until now."

She turned her back on him and strode away, and the last of the day's light went with her. He stared blankly after her for a few moments, aghast at what he'd done. If he had angered Una, the sweetest and kindest girl in the world, there truly was no hope left for him.

He trudged slowly back to the house through the deepening twilight and crept in the back door. Fortunately, Susan was away in some other part of the house, not in the kitchen. He couldn't have borne her brusque practicality. His mother sat at the table, staring into the distance in the fading light, a bowl half-full of shelled peas in front of her. She looked up as he came in.

"Did Una find you?" she asked

"Yes. Rather unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

Rather than answering, he sank to his knees in front of her chair and laid his head in her lap, wishing he was five years old again, with no worries more complicated than a broken toy or a skinned knee.

"Oh, Mother. I've spent so much time thinking about what I've lost, and I willfully pushed away any thought of what everyone else lost. Not just my family, but other families. Not just my sense of purpose, but the idea that the world made sense. That things happened for a reason, and that everything would turn out more or less right in the end. I don't know if I believe that any more." The shuddering breath he let out had a lot in common with a sob.

‟I know, my darling. It seems hard to believe, and I think we're all struggling with it in our own way. But you don’t have to struggle alone. You shouldn't push away those who love you."

"It's easy to say 'shouldn't' and harder to do." He heaved a deep sigh. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try."

She stroked his hair gently. "It must be very difficult for you. I understand."

Mother always did understand.

"I’ve been thinking about what you and Father said. I think I would like to go to spend some time at Green Gables."

Her hand tightened on his shoulder, a grasp of support and affection. "Of course. We'll send a telegram to Davy and Millie tomorrow."

"And Mother?" He lifted his head to look at her. "Can Una come as well?"

Her grey-green eyes brightened to match her smile. When she smiled like that, Walter remembered what it felt like to believe in beauty. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Walter."


End file.
